


Of Lo Mein and Love

by insatiablegaydesire



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Book: Carry On, and Simon's moles because it's not a snowbaz fic without them, baz is a secret romantic, featuring my very bad poetic analogies, simon is a lovable idiot as always, this is seriously just 1000 words of pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10173914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablegaydesire/pseuds/insatiablegaydesire
Summary: “Why do you still call me Snow?”Baz smiled to himself after hearing this, as if calling Simon by his last name was some kind of inside joke. Come to think of it, maybe it was.In which Penelope is in America, Simon and Baz have a date night, and romantic stories are told.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanwork for one of my favorite books. Hope I did it justice!

Simon could smell the Chinese takeout from his spot on the couch a few feet away from the kitchen. The tiny apartment may have its drawbacks, but its easy accessibility to food from the living area should not be ignored. Thanks to Penelope’s two week trip to America to visit her boyfriend, Simon and Baz could enjoy their time without tripping over her legs. She liked to stick them on the table.

Simon flicked through the Netflix categories, searching for something that fit both Baz and his preferences. He caught sight of the thumbnail for The Great British Bake Off, causing his thumb to stop its motions for a second. He clicked once.

“Chopsticks or fork?” Baz asked from inside the small kitchen.

Simon looked over his shoulder with a smile, and said, “Fingers.”

Baz’s face remained stoic, but Simon saw the telling twitch of the corner of his boyfriend’s lip. “Very funny, Snow.”

Simon heaved a long sigh, and admitted defeat. “Fine. Give me a fork.”

Baz hummed his response. He brought the food and utensils over, passing the fork to Simon before looking over to see what he’d chosen to watch. When he saw the show that they’d already watched twice now, he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He sat down to the right of Simon.

Simon started to dig into his lo mein, wrapping the noodles around his fork, but he paused when a thought occurred to him. “Baz?”

“Don't tell me you want chopsticks now,” Baz said, his grey eyes stony in warning.

“No. No, it's- well, um,” Simon stumbled. He still had trouble with his words every so often around Baz.

Baz rested his hand on Simon’s knee, and silently waited for Simon to recollect himself.

“It's just. Why?” Simon managed to say. He ran his tongue over his teeth, then followed the simple question with, “Why do you still call me Snow?”

Baz smiled to himself after hearing this, as if calling Simon by his last name was some kind of inside joke. Come to think of it, maybe it was. “Okay, well, first of all, I'm proud of you for spitting it out.” His smile grew larger, and his eyes softer. “And I call you Snow because it means something.”

“I'm pretty sure Simon means something too,” Simon said.

Baz rolled his eyes. “That's not what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” Simon asked. 

Baz bit his lip, watching Simon following the movement with his own eyes. He grabbed Simon’s bowl of noodles, and set both of their food down onto the table. He carefully positioned himself on Simon’s lap so he could watch his lover’s reaction to the story he was about to tell. “The first snowfall I can remember is from when I was seven. The snow had covered everything; everywhere you looked, it stretched over.” Baz’s eyes crinkled up at the corners at the memory. “It was so clean, pure, untouched. It was the very definition of perfection, in my eyes.” His smile dimmed a bit, remembering the next part. “And then my dad left to go out that day, and as he walked on the path, he created footsteps in the snow. I yelled at him to stop, but he just told me to go back inside. So, I looked back at what once had been perfect and I saw the imperfections. I was so angry at him for messing with it. But, even with the footsteps, I still loved the snow.”

Simon’s lip curled up and he raised his hand to brush a lock of Baz’s fallen hair back behind his ear. “That's sweet, but it doesn't answer my question.”

“Well maybe if you stopped interrupting me, you'd get your answer,” Baz said.

Shrugging, Simon leaned back into the couch. He rubbed a hand at Baz’s hip to get out his energy in a way other than speaking.

“So, fast forward a few years, to when we met.” Simon perked up at the mention of himself, and Baz laughed at this. “You were this kid, so curious about the World of Mages that you had yet to know, and still so happy even though you'd been through hell and back with not knowing your parents. But, when you started at Watford, all these people and things started chasing after you, and then all this shit with the Mage happened, and Ebb, and you're not exactly living the most perfect life.”

“Okay, now that's just depressing,” Simon said, mouth open.

“What did I say about interruptions?” Baz snapped. 

Simon’s jaw shut, and he drew his lips in.

“Good. Now, what I'm about to say, I know you're gonna blow it up, and it's gonna be this big thing, and you're never gonna let me live it down. So, just, maybe try not to do that, okay?” Baz licked at his lower lip in worry.

Simon nodded his assent.

Baz breathed in deeply once and wrapped his arms around Simon’s neck, his hand fiddling with the longer curls in the back. “I fell in love with snow when I was seven, and I wanted to hurt anybody who hurt it. And then later I fell in love with Snow again, and I wanted to hurt anybody who hurt it, except this time it was a person, not a thing.”

Simon’s jaw dropped, but before he could get a word out, Baz shut him up with a kiss. When Baz withdrew, Simon had stars in his eyes. “That was the most romantic shit I've ever heard.”

The little blood that Baz had in his system rushed up his neck. He buried his face in Simon’s shoulder, and mumbled into the fabric of Simon’s shirt, “Shut up.”

Simon laughed. “Shut up about how much I love you? Never.”

Baz smiled, face still hidden. He drew back a little bit, and kissed his way up Simon’s neck, ending at the mole that hid behind Simon’s ear. “So can I still call you Snow?”

“Baz, you could call me nothing but Bitch-face, and I'd still choose you over cherry scones,” Simon said, taking one of Baz’s hands and kissing at the knuckles.

Baz mock-gasped. “Even over cherry scones? Who’s the romantic one now?”

“Always you, Baz,” Simon whispered. “Always you. Don't even try to deny it.”

“Whatever you say, Bitch-face.”

Simon whacked Baz over the head with a pillow.


End file.
